I say, "Well—I have missed my cousin."
He says, "I beg your pardon, I have not been introduced to you."
"Do you know where we are going?" I ask.
He says, "No."
"Well, what are you doing—Who are you?" I splutter.
"No one in particular," he answers. "I have been pushed in here against my will. I think it was the second time you cried for your cousin. One of the cops picked me, but I don't believe there is any relationship."
We laugh. That helps. We pull up and he is politely let off at the corner. As quickly as possible he is shut out. Crowds are around on both sides, raising their hats English fashion, as though they were meeting a lady. The mounted policemen leave us. I am left alone with my thoughts.
If I could only do something—solve the unemployment problem or make some grand gesture—in answer to all this. I look through the window in the back of the car. There are a string of taxis following behind. In the lead, seated on top of the cab, is a young and pretty girl all dressed in scarlet. She is waving to me as she chases. What a picture she makes! I think what good fun it would be to get on top of the cab with her and race around through the country.
I feel like doing something big. What an opportunity for a politician to say something and do something big! I never felt such affection. We are going down York Road. I see placards, "Charlie Arrives." Crowds standing on the corner, all lined up along my way to the hotel. I am beginning to wonder what it's all about.
Am feeling a bit reflective, after all, thinking over what I have done; it has not been very much. Nothing to call forth all this. "Shoulder Arms" was pretty good, perhaps, but all this clamour over a moving-picture actor!